


I've Passed You In the Halls A Thousand Times

by Anonymous



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Community: trope_bingo, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's when he caught sight of the shirt. It was a long-sleeved dress shirt hanging near the front, pristine and white. There might as well have been a heavenly chorus surrounding it. An hour ago, that shirt had been against Francis's naked skin.</p><p>He sort of envied it, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Passed You In the Halls A Thousand Times

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "For You I Will (Confidence)" by Teddy Geiger.

PE wasn't quite so bad for him as some of the other guys. He could last long enough on running, and was pretty flexible. He didn't quite own it in the flashy way that Al did, but he passed under the radar, just like about every other subject and club and about every other place.

It was the showers afterwards that Matthew really hated, though. He generally clung to his towel for dear life, tried to find a corner shower where he could stare at the wall and hope nobody noticed him. And mostly stay as far away from Francis as possible. Maybe it was a European thing–nude beaches and all—but Francis would walk in without bothering with towels. And he didn't just slap guys with _towels_ either.

So Matthew always forced himself to find a stall which faced away from Francis, and was the farthest he could be without actually being in another room.

And it wasn't because he was one of _those_ guys–the sort who called everything 'faggy' or 'gay' when they really meant 'shitty' and had to ensure that everyone knew they liked boobs every minute of the day, lest someone think they were a cocksucker.

No, he just was afraid he'd get hard if Francis did any of those pranks on him, or maybe snap and beg him to fuck him in front of everyone and he really didn't want the one time everyone remembered him to be something out of a cheap porno.

Feliks was the official gay guy around here. He even had a rainbow pin stating so and everything. He might've been the persona non grata, except that the girls liked him, and the last guy who heckled him got kicked in the groin with a pair of steel-toed fetish wear boots. Plus, he was on good terms with Francis, and had a sort of weird bantery half-flirting thing going with Gilbert. But then, Gilbert was a slut for bantery, love/hate flirting. He did it with Arthur, Roderich, Lizzie, Lovino, Ivan, and even Vash.

But Matthew didn't want to be even lower on the scale. Being invisible was one thing, but being the scapegoat of the school was another thing entirely. He wasn't fabulous enough to get away with it, and the only saving grace would be that Al would save his ass from being kicked.

He wasn't big on fights, though he had helped finish a few. But he didn't have that crazy determination and bravery to take on a whole mob of kids because they called so and so a creep like Al did. He saw himself as some sort of protector of justice, a hero.

Matthew was just a kid trying to survive high school.

This time, Matthew had lollygagged, and tried to chat with the PE teacher and offer to put away things. He was having one of those low-self control days. Al having a bunch of friends in their shared room meant he didn't exactly get any alone time, and frankly he hadn't wanked in at least two days. Which was like two years in teenage guy time. 

 

The locker room was empty. He looked around, waiting for a moment. He could take a quick shower. A quick cold shower, so least he wouldn't make a fool of himself by doing something drastic and distinctly sexy which would probably haunt him for the rest of his life–or at least the rest of his high school life.

That's when he caught sight of the shirt. It was a long-sleeved dress shirt hanging near the front, pristine and white. There might as well have been a heavenly chorus surrounding it. An hour ago, that shirt had been against Francis's naked skin.

He sort of envied it, really.

He'd recognize this shirt anywhere–hell, he had at least three different fantasies which revolved around Francis wearing only this shirt–and he couldn't help being drawn closer. He took it from the hanger, studying the fleur de lis stitched into the front pocket. It smelled strongly of Francis's own particular scent: expensive rose scented cologne, cigarettes, even a hint of sex.

Matthew honestly felt like he could just come right in his gym shorts. He hugged the shirt close and buried his face in his, inhaling the mix of various scents that together became something entirely alluring.

He couldn't help himself. He used one had to clutch the shirt close, and the free one slipped down the waistband of his gym shorts.

"Oh, Francis...." He murmured. He could almost just imagine that Francis was here. Touching him. Kissing him. Could almost–

"What do we have here?"

Maybe he imagined a little too hard.

Matthew nearly dropped the shirt in surprise. He had basically been caught red handed–literally, even–though at least he had a moment to dislodge said hand from his pants before he turned around to see Francis Bonnefoy standing at the door with a smirk, and without a shirt. His chest was well-defined, and covered with blond hair, like most of the rest of him.

"I. Um," Matthew began. He looked away from Francis's bare chest. Oh, fuck, he wanted to lick it. Wall, it was. His face was burning as he tried to find his way out of this one. Which was problematic, as gym shorts were not nearly as good at hiding erections as loose jeans were. Francis was openly staring at his groin, while Matthew put his attention to somewhere above his shoulder, trying not to stare.

"My eyes are down here," Francis said, his voice full of amusement.

"Um," Matthew said.

"And I'm still waiting for an explanation..."

"Um. Well, you see–I....thought it was mine. And I-I wanted to make sure it wasn't smelling b-bad before I went out and...."

"Oh? So you have a custom stitched Gucci shirt, made personally as a gift to you, with your name embroidered on the inside cuff?" Francis asked, sounding quite amused.

"...m-my glasses are off when I shower, so..." Matthew said.

He was really sounding fucking brilliant now, but at least he wasn't blurting out something really embarrassing, like _I love you, please fuck me into the sheets! Er, walls._

"You're wearing your glasses now," Francis noted.

"But I was just going to take them off because they get foggy, so I couldn't s-see it–"

Which was technically something of a lie–he could see Francis all too well, which was largely why he had been staring at the wall above Francis's perfect shoulders so intently.

"So you regularly like to get off to hugging your own clothes in public places?" Francis asked.

Damnable gym shorts and their tightness. Matthew wanted to bury his face in his knees with embarrassment, but that probably would've just made it look pornographic.

"...I haven't gotten any, u-uh, alone time in a while. Teenage boy and all," Matthew said. He forced a smile, but it didn't really help. He figured at this rate, he might as well just flee until Francis left. Then he could double back and shower. "So. Um. Yeah. A-anyways, I'll be going now. Sorry about the mixup and—"

"Matthieu," Francis said.

Matthew froze. It couldn't be. He was mistaking him for Matthew Fenly, that other tall kid in class. He—

"You wouldn't be thinking that was yours because you dress casually. Your dress shirts have rips in the because you had a growth spurt and you never got new ones. On your own time, you'd be wearing hoodies and band t-shirts, certainly nothing by Gucci."

It was an odd feeling, being so exposed. Matthew was used to being the kid no one remembered. And even as much as it frustrated and depressed him, it also meant he got away with things that he might've never lived down. Being 'that kid' had its advantages.

He met Francis's eyes. They were a clear, light shade of blue, and fixated him with a certain intensity that made his knees want to buckle.

"You...you know who I am?" Matthew asked tentatively.

"Mattieu Williams," Francis said.

He didn't even add "Alfred Jones's brother." The few who even knew him always added that. It was such a strange sensation, realizing that Francis knew him for himself, and not just the shadow of someone else.

Francis chuckled. "And I think we both know what you were doing in here. Though you did make some good arguments." 

Matthew looked down at the floor, blushing. "Er."

"Need a little help with that?" France asked. He stepped a little closer.

His mind honestly blanked out for a moment. He must've had a deer in the headlights expression.

"Should I take that as a yes? Because I'd really..." He leaned in, and Francis could feel his warm breath on his neck, could smell his rose-musk scent. "Like to touch you."

Matthew nodded, even though he didn't really trust himself not to say something that would just wake him up from this amazing dream he'd somehow stepped into.

"Um. Uh. _Oh god yes._ "

Francis licked his lips. "That's better."

He came closer, until Matthew was backed up into the space between the blue lockers and the beat up benches. This was probably the time he should put his hands on Francis, but his hands stayed to his sides. He probably would've put them in pockets if he had them. 

"You're so tense," Francis murmured. His fingers were light against Matthew's forearm. Even just that one touch was wrecking him and sending shivers through him.

"S-sorry," Matthew said. God, he always did that. He was Canadian to a fault.

Francis chuckled. "It's fine. And so are you. I'll just have to...make you relax." He winked, just to lay on more implications.

"You look so cute in those shorts. I can't help but want to rip them off of you."

"Um. You...have my permission to do so?" Matthew said.

"Mmm. Not quite yet. Follow me, Matthieu."

Neither exams, nor weather, nor fire alarms, nor beefy straight dudes could have gotten in the way of Matthew following after him. Francis found a bench and motioned for him to come over. Matthew sat down, nervous and eager all at once as Francis climbed up into his lap. He tentatively reached out and touched Francis's chest. His skin was so warm beneath Matthew's hands, he couldn't help but keep running his hands over Francis's gorgeous body.

"You look like you've just seen a god," Francis said.

"I think I have," Matthew breathed.

Francis moved and ground their crotches together.

"And I like even a little more. I didn't think it was possible," Francis said. "But then, I am an unrepentant egoist."

Everything Matthew was going to say just caught in his throat. So he buried his face against Francis's shoulder to hide his blush.

"You're blushing again, aren't you? It's very cute," Francis said.

This only made him blush more. He kept touching Francis, biting his lip as he did.

"No, no, don't hold back," Francis murmured.

"Someone might hear," Matthew said.

"No one is going to come in here. My friends are causing a big enough diversion to make sure of it," Francis said.

Matthew moaned as Francis ground himself against him. The only thing separating skin and skin was two layers of underwear. Already he could feel the bulge of Francis's cock rubbing against him, and growing harder every minute.

"What a secret treasure you are, hidden away with no one realizing how lovely you are. I rather like it, keeping you all to myself," Francis said.

Matthew wanted to say all these profound things. Like _I've felt the same way ever since I first laid eyes on you_ except that sounded like something out of a romance novel. _Me too_ didn't exactly work, either, because Francis was anything but hidden.

"I usually have more patience than this," Francis said. He began to tug at Matthew's underwear and in a second, he gripped Matthew's cock. Francis ran his thumb down the veins, with a firm, but steady pressure that was driving Matthew wild. He couldn't help but jerk his hips as they touched and ground against each other.

"Francis...." Matthew broke off, his breath ragged as Francis pressed their cocks together and began to rub them together. Slick precum dripped from the tip of Francis's cock, and he traced it until they were both slippery.

"There, now we're sharing," Francis said.

Matthew bent his head back in wordless pleasure as Francis touched him, and stroked him. Francis took this as a chance to lick up his neck, lingering on his Adam's Apple. It was hard to believe anything this good could even exist, and he hadn't even come yet, but every nerve in him was alive and every breath he got a little closer to ecstasy.

Francis nibbled on his jaw as he rubbed the heads of their cocks together, until Matthew's breath came out so desperate and ragged. He licked a hot line down his chest. He wanted to look into Francis's eyes, but Francis was so intense that it'd just make him blush all over enough. 

It was a daring, desperate move, but as he felt his body tightening, clenching from his balls, he gripped Francis and pulled him into a kiss. He was tentative, but Francis moaned into his kiss and took control, kissing with a great deal more confidence and passion than Matthew knew. It felt so good, a warm clenching, throbbing feeling that spread out from his cock to his fingertips and for a moment, all he knew was Francis. Francis near him, the heat and smell of him.

Francis smiled, reeking satisfaction, with half closed eyes.

"So, another round?" Francis said.

A sharp alarm cut through his post-coital glow. Matthew had never actually heard it tripped, but he was pretty sure that was the fire alarm.

" _Merde_ , I told them not to go overboard," Francis muttered.

Francis got up off him and pulled his shorts back on, while Matthew got up in a daze. He still hadn't gotten quite past the feeling of a sex high. He started to walk towards the showers.

"What are you doing? They're going to check back here," Francis said, with a sudden sharpness in his voice.

"Cleaning up?" Matthew said.

"No, leave it," Francis said.

"But, I'll smell..." Matthew protested.

"You'll smell like me. And I'll smell like you. Something to remember me by, _d'accord_?"

It sounded so final, like such a goodbye. Matthew swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Y-yeah. Okay."

He pulled on his jeans with no issue, and didn't look at Francis. He should've known he'd be another notch on his belt. He wondered if he should even do the _see you around_ schtick, or if he should just go before Francis gave him the _you're still here_ look. He couldn't take that.

"Here," Francis said. Matthew looked over to see Francis's shirt being pushed into him.

"What?"

"Wear it," Francis said.

"You really love that shirt, though," Matthew protested.

"I have others, and you seem so very fond of it....go on, wear it. I want to see you in my clothes...to see you happy."

Matthew held it to his chest. He could still smell Francis's scent there, held tight in the clothes and in his memory. 

"...Thank you."

He slipped it on, and it was only a little tight, given that he was a little wider in the chest.

"There, now don't you look handsome," Francis said. He buttoned up the shirt, and turned the collar. 

"Am I ever going to see you again?" Matthew said.

"Well I should certainly _hope_ so, given that I barely even got a taste of you."

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to Matthew's, his warm hands cupping Matthew's cheeks. It was so warm and tender, and so unexpected from Francis. It filled Matthew with a warm, giddy sort of feeling in his chest.

"I want to get to know you a whole lot better," Francis said.

"Me too," Matthew said.

Another sharp alarm cut the moment. Francis drew back and glared at the door. He gripped Matthew's hand. "Let's go."

The embroidery of Francis's name on the shirt rubbed against his skin, and Matthew liked to think it was like the new hickeys on his neck, or the smell of Francis permeating his skin: just a another way of saying he was Francis's.

Sure, it was stupid, but an hour ago, he would've said it would be stupid to think that Francis would even knew him. Gay sex miracles happened, apparently. And for once, Matthew was inclined to believe in the impossible as they ran together through the halls towards the doors.


End file.
